


put the past (behind you)

by ssuppositiouss



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Heterochromia, M/M, Past Character Death, VLD Halloween Exchange 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12484084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssuppositiouss/pseuds/ssuppositiouss
Summary: Daibazaal has been overrun with quintessence-stealing monsters, and Prince Lance has been called from Altea to help save the remaining Galran people. With his unique quintessence manipulation abilities, Lance has the power to possibly save everyone—but he’ll need to overcome his own insecurities, as well as the history he may or may not have with the Galra hybrid Keith.fic for the vldhalloween exchange on tumblr





	1. day one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zhovel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhovel/gifts).



> this is such a wild interpretation of your prompt "behind you" but i really hope you like it!! it's been fun to write and your replies to my messages kept motivating me haha

Lance steps out of the wormhole with shaking footsteps and a much too rapid heart rate. He doesn’t know if he can get used to this, the diplomacy, the constant traveling. He figures it is what he is best at, what he needs to do to be useful to Allura and their people, so he traverses the galaxies and does his best and hopes that it, hopes that he, is enough.

(he doesn’t think he is)

The atmosphere of Altea is different from here, and, if not for his ability to shift so well—shifting is a slight discomfort to which he’s grown accustomed, the tug of his body and insides becoming someone he’s not but ultimately someone better—he might have found difficulty breathing. He adjusts quickly and easily, lets the new air fill his lungs (lets the new persona of Prince Lance the Diplomat take over), then surveys the area.

Daibazaal does not look like Altea. Lance doesn’t expect them to look the same, and, from what he knows of their cultures, they don’t have too much in common. Still, he isn’t expecting such a large visual contrast. Where Altea is bright colors, sleek white buildings, glass and flowers and constant glowing moonlight, Daibazaal is more metallic, buildings towering over the people, metals and gems and stones glistening in the pale yellow moon. It’s beautiful in a different way, he supposes. He’s never travelled to this planet before now, and he would have liked to see it when it wasn’t in trouble, in ruin.

Allura’s wormhole leaves him in a clearing. This will have to be where she’ll land her ship’s pod, as Daibazaal is populated with buildings and people (assuming those people are still alive, Lance thinks, fighting the wave of nausea), and the pod is unnecessarily large.

“Unnecessary, but so worth it,” Lance says to himself, because it’s so quiet in Daibazaal and he doesn’t like the silence. Little stones crunch under his feet, hopefully not dirtying the stark white of his boots. “Where else would I keep my beauty supplies?”

No one hears him, though, so he lets the facade drop, at least temporarily. There's no point.

Lance closes his eyes and mentally tugs at the threads of quintessence in the air around him. They gleam brightly, wrapping around his hands in comfort as he lets their warmth guide him. He finds a thread of quintessence that glows the prettiest, the brightest and warmest of them all (to him anyway, it is somewhat familiar), and he tugs it with the gentleness he reserves for handling something as volatile as quintessence.

As an Altean he knows better than to treat quintessence as anything but the strong yet delicate energy that it is, and as a prince, he has the ability to treat it properly. Today, this quintessence will be his guide.

His cape billows around him. His clothes are comfortable on Altea, where the atmosphere is lighter, but here on Daibazaal, his thigh-high boots and the belt at his waist are constricting. The air feels heavy. His clothes stand out so brightly compared to his surroundings, and Lance wishes he had to foresight to bring a change of clothes to better match this world physically and socially.

But, Lance thinks bitterly, he isn’t good at thinking ahead like that.

“Nothing new,” he mutters to himself, grabbing a portion of his cape and tossing it back so it flutters. At least he looks stylish. Perhaps Allura will bring him something more comfortable when she brings their supplies later.

As he walks, following the bright thread that he assumes will lead him to the Galran palace, the quintessence threads around him begin to dim. The air smells stale and dead, bitter with blood and gore, sticky with the weight of murder and monstrosity. Daibazaal is already darker than Altea because of its pale singular moon, but with the dark purple blood staining the stones lining his path, it’s a lot worse than he imagined. Around him, what were once tall buildings are collapsed and decaying, the devastation of a city once tall and proud.

There are no bodies, thankfully, curiously, but Lance can picture them splayed about, ruined as their city now is.

Homes are destroyed and people are _dead_ , and the sound and smell and sight of death is encompassing.

Part of him is tempted to read the quintessence he is following, to figure out exactly what has happened here and try to figure out how to stop it. He knows, though, that doing so leaves him weakened and pained, and he needs to prepare beforehand to prevent anything from going wrong.

(he hates that he needs to prepare so much; what’s the point of his power, then?)

It isn’t too far of a walk to the palace, judging by the length of thread he needs to follow. Lance surveys the area as he travels, noting the fraying threads of quintessence, the wreckage of a major city, the strong sense of loss and death.

The destruction lessens as he nears the palace, he notes, filing the thought to the back of his mind. He supposes it must be a sign of hope, that the monsters have managed to avoid the capital. If he is expected to speak (or if he can offer Allura advice, as she tends to do whatever she wants when they travel the planets), this hope is worth mentioning.

As he walks, no Galra come to greet him. He must look odd, as Alteans are much smaller than the Galra, and he is striding to their capital in white Altean clothing, tugging on an invisible yet powerful force only the Alteans can physically see. He senses the quintessence of these people, though, so he knows there are still Galrans alive and in the city, quintessence strong but dim, fading and fraying.

The quintessence he follows continues to shine, leading him directly to the front wall surrounding the palace. The wall is like a fortress, tall and imposing, hiding the royalty from the people around them, shielding the Galra people from their royalty. Their cultures are so different.

“Woah,” Lance whispers. The wall is crumbling in areas, stained with blood and chipped and cracked in others, but it still stands strong, daunting, powerful. The Altean palace also towers tall over the people, but the doors are always open, and Lance is always sneaking out to spend time with his non-royal friends.

“Prince Lanciel of Altea.” The voice is scratchy and rough, and the language is Altean. Lance startles in surprise, quite accustomed to the silence, his own thoughts.

“Lance,” he corrects out of habit, always uncomfortable when his peers address him so formally.

The woman who greets him is around his height, hunched over and hooded in a dark cloak. “I see.” He can’t read her quintessence, though it coils around her viciously. It’s shielded, somehow, in a manner he has never before seen. He can’t understand her. “Thank you for coming.”

She gestures for him to follow, lowering a portion of the wall with her magic so Lance is able to pass. She gives him not even a tick’s reprieve before raising the wall again, walking so briskly Lance has to speed up his pace.

The palace is grand, made of the same dark stone as the structures in the wreckage outside, adorned with gems and metals to keep it stronger and more beautiful than the other parts of Daibazaal. He has little time to admire as the woman walks. She directs him past a dark hallway, and the quintessence tugs on his hand, beckoning him in that direction.

Lance stops walking, stares. The quintessence leads here.

The hallway is not inviting in its darkness (but then, nothing about Daibazaal that he’s seen so far has been inviting), but the bright quintessence he’s been following leads to someone down there, and Lance stares as though he can figure out who is there just by observation. His heart tells him to follow.

The woman senses his hesitation but says nothing. She simply smirks at him and continues walking. Deciding that the quintessence can wait and that the Daibazaal crisis is of more importance, Lance jogs to catch up with her. The decision feels empty.

“So what exactly’s been happening here?” Lance asks, unable to stand the silence.

The woman spares him a glance, her lips twisting into an almost cruel smile as she stays silent. He can’t find another thread of quintessence to follow or read, oddly enough. This woman is shielding her own quintessence, somehow, and it doesn’t appear that there are other Galrans in the palace. He theorizes about why, makes plans to investigate with Allura later.

She leads him past several hallways and doors, finally leading to a large throne room.

After seeing so much death outside the palace, the throne room is a nice change. It is wide and open, purple draperies hanging on the walls, large jeweled chandeliers shaped from metals and shining slate glistening from the ceiling. Behind the throne are large windows that overlook the gardens behind the palace and beneath Lance’s feet is a stone floor, precious stones lining the path to the raised throne seat. At the center of the room, there are stairs leading to a lowered floor, as whoever speaks to the royalty needs to stand lower than them in Daibazaal. He doesn’t like the openness of the floorplan, leaving him or whoever speaks to the Emperor vulnerable. The woman leads him to this lowered area of the floor, backing away in silence as she makes her way to the throne.

Rather than Zarkon, who Lance is expecting, the prince sits on the throne. The prince’s quintessence isn’t as bright as Lance is expecting (the bright quintessence belongs to Zarkon, perhaps, or maybe another member of the royal family), though it has the same feeling as the woman’s, stifled and shielded from him. The prince sits on the throne like it is a mere chair, leaning comfortably on one of the arms of his seat, legs crossed. Despite his comfort, he is dignified and very obviously a prince, a manner of presence and confidence that Lance feels he still needs to achieve.

“Prince Lanciel of Altea,” greets the Galran prince in near-perfect Altean. His voice is deep, and, well, Lance can admit that the prince is attractive, with long limbs and flowing hair (reminiscent of Allura’s, he’ll have to ask this prince about his hair products) and eyes bright like crystals in yellow sclera. His own hair is nothing compared to Lotor’s. He feels so small and unattractive next to this prince, despite being a prince himself.

Lotor doesn’t look like the other Galra.

“The pleasure is _all mine_ , believe me.” Lance’s heart flutters a little and he smiles, raises and lowers his eyebrows, portraying a confidence he needs to feel. “You can call me _Lance_.”

“Lance,” says the prince, a softness to his voice that leaves Lance breathless. “I am Prince Lotor of Daibazaal.” The prince’s quintessence is warm despite being drawn back. Alteans are masters at manipulating quintessence, and he finds it interesting that these Galra have perfected hiding their quintessence like this. What purpose is there, to hide quintessence in such a way?

Unless this is something they cannot control.

“The princess will be joining us within the next quintant,” Lance says diplomatically. “Until her arrival we can prepare.”

“Excellent!” The prince’s smiles leave Lance’s face warm. “We appreciate you coming all this way. I trust your travels were safe?”

“Daibazaal isn’t too far from Altea,” Lance admits, scratching the back of his head. Allura summoned a wormhole and he stepped through it. The whole process took a few doboshes at most, and he trusts Allura with his life, so he was more than safe.

“Ah, but you still came in a quintant because our people are in need.”

Daibazaal sent a distress signal to Altea just one quintant prior. The castle’s occupants watched the broadcast in horror, unable to tear their eyes away as a large beast terrorized the people behind the man asking for their help. In his dreams that night, Lance could hear the screaming, the sound of squelching blood and organs, the cracks of bones and bodies.

“I did what anyone would do.”

“You’re not just anyone, though,” Lotor insists. “We’ve heard about your magic, it’s very impressive. To be able to read the quintessence linking our time to the past and future is the most unique ability I’ve ever heard in an Altean.”

Lance knows his face is burning bright blue to match his face markings. His skill with quintessence is unusual, and he knows that it has its uses. But what good is reading the past or an ever-changing future when there are more essential quintessence abilities, like summoning wormholes and physically channeling quintessence? People can hide their quintessence, too, and it makes reading time a difficult task with too many variabilities.

And, perhaps most importantly, it’s embarrassing to admit how weak he is after using his power. Reading quintessence leaves him vulnerable, so it isn’t a skill he uses too often, something he regrets.

He clears his throat, tries to sway the conversation to something easier for him to handle. “I suppose, but that isn’t of importance right now.” It is rarely of importance, Lance figures. “How have you been coping? The wreckage outside looks horrible. I’m sorry we won’t be able to stop that.”

Lotor shakes his head. “I’ve only just returned after the beast arrived for the third time. It. . . It wounded my father, and I had to step in.”

Lance’s heart goes out to Lotor. He can relate all too well, having lost his own father rather recently. “I’m sorry,” he says, and the ache in his voice is apparent, even to his own ears. The bright quintessence from earlier wraps around his fingers to provide a comforting warmth, and he uses his other hand to fiddle with the thread, letting the warmth calm his rapidly beating heart.

He needs to work on hiding some of his feelings. He and Allura haven’t fully recovered, and with Allura as acting Queen (though she is still a princess, as he lovingly reminds her), they haven’t had the chance to even talk about what happened. Lance doesn’t even know how he would breach the subject.

“I appreciate that.” Lotor looks at Lance, then he brings his gaze downward to Lance’s hands. He stands there awkwardly as Lotor stares for longer than politically polite (but then, Lotor is more than welcome to stare at Lance, he’s perfectly fine with that so long as he’s allowed to stare back). Lotor brings his gaze to Lance’s eyes again, eyes flashing with something unreadable. His lips are drawn into a smile. “You’re a very interesting person, Lance of Altea.”

“That I am,” Lance agrees, though he can’t follow the progression of Lotor’s thoughts at all. “You’re pretty interesting yourself,” he adds with a wink.

“Haggar.” The woman moves almost imperceptibly toward Lotor, nodding as he whispers something to her. She is silent as she leaves the room, leaving only Lance and Lotor. The atmosphere is both comfortable and uncomfortable, and Lance shifts on his feet.

Lotor smiles, and Lance continues, “What exactly are you looking for Allura to do?” The question has been burning on his mind since they’re received the initial call. He doesn’t know why he’s here, when Allura is the one with the better skillset for a horror like what this planet has experienced.

Lotor considers Lance’s question, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I need both of you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Lance’s heart quickens its pace. He doesn’t know what Lotor knows about him, but it isn’t the best feeling, knowing someone else might know your darker thoughts. “No, no, I mean. Do you have a specific plan?”

Lotor is silent for a moment’s pause, and Lance drinks in the other prince’s features, the tired but calculating look in his eyes, the smirk on his lips. The prince is not a full Galran, and Lance isn’t sure what to make of this information. “I’d like you to look at the quintessence weaving through the future, if you can.” Lotor interrupts Lance’s thoughts as though he knows where they are going. “What happens to Daibazaal? What is the best way to defeat this beast?”

Lance nods. It’s a smart role to play, he supposes, though he doesn’t quite see his own usefulness when Allura could just defeat the beasts without Lance wasting everyone’s time.

“It’s something only you can do for us,” Lotor adds, “as it gives us something solid to work toward and tell our people.”

Lance is struck, then, by just how intelligent Lotor is. Politics and charisma are some of Lance’s stronger points, so much so that he recognizes when there’s someone even more gifted, someone whose talents he could never hope to reach. (Again, almost bitterly, he wonders why he bothers with his own skills, knowing that achieving anywhere close to this level is impossible if it is not a natural skill in his blood, and Lance has very few natural talents.) Lotor knows what to say to his people, knows what to say to _Lance_ to get what he needs.

He isn’t sure if Lotor realizes what he’s asking (or if he does). Not a lot of people realize that using his power is rather debilitating, and if Lance does look into the past or future, he’d be unable to help Allura for a few vargas at the very least. He would never admit to this weakness, though, so perhaps Lotor is unaware. . .

Before Lance can reply, the doors to the throne room open once more. Lance feels a burst of warm, bright quintessence, a tug on his wrist (a tug on his heart), and he spins around to find the cause.

The woman, Haggar, has dragged someone into the throne room. Lance isn’t sure what he’s looking at, exactly.

The boy looks like an Altean in some features, but he doesn’t have the correct markings, doesn’t have the matching quintessence. His face and his skin are splotchy, patches of Galra purple and pale peach, furless, possibly the same texture as Lance’s own skin though the color is more fair. He has dark black hair and his ears are purple, and the contrast doesn’t appear to be a common match for the Galra people. Most striking, though, are his eyes. His right eye is the Galra gold, wide and bright and suspicious. His left eye shines a dark violet in white sclera. It looks almost blue, almost gray. It’s a mix of colors that Lance has never seen.

The boy is definitely a hybrid, a mix of features oddly mashed together (in contrast to Lotor’s mix, which appears smooth and beautiful), but Lance cannot distinguish the second portion of his heritage.

His quintessence, though, is almost painfully bright. Lance immediately recognizes it as the thread that pulled him here, providing stability and warmth during his short journey. He swallows in discomfort, glancing at the prince for explanation.

Lotor smiles, gestures at the hybrid as the woman returns to stand next to him. “This is. . . _Keith_.” The name sounds foreign on his tongue. It isn’t a common name, not for Alteans or for Galrans, apparently.

“Keith,” Lance repeats, the name like candy on his tongue, sweet and fitting and familiar. Keith’s quintessence shines, bright and warm, the thread wrapping around Lance’s pinky finger and beckoning him closer. Lance ignores the call of the quintessence, trying his best to focus on the task at hand, to stare at the prince who already knows so much about him.

“Keith can show you to your quarters, and he’ll explain more about the situation.” Lotor leans back in his seat, smiles at Lance. “We can reconvene when the Princess Allura arrives.”

It’s a dismissal if Lance has ever heard one, and he’s a little irritated that this hybrid’s sudden presence ended the conversation with Lotor. Haggar all but throws Keith at Lance, though Keith steadies himself easily if not a bit shakily, crossing his arms as soon as he’s free of the woman’s grip. The quintessence feels much more pleasant now that they’re nearer to each other, and Lance can’t help his contented sigh.

Keith gives him an odd look. “What’s your name?” he says, voice rough with disuse but still soft and a little higher pitched than Lance was expecting.

Keith speaks in the Galran tongue, though until now Lance has been speaking Altean and Lotor has been more than accommodating (with his barely accented, smooth voice).

Lance raises an eyebrow, glancing back at Lotor, who’s watching them both curiously, the smallest of smirks on his lips. Lance isn’t sure what to make of this, what Lotor is expecting, so he files the thought away for later.

“Lanciel of Altea,” he says, his Galran accented, the language unused until this very moment, “but shouldn’t you know that?” Altea and Daibazaal are within the same galaxy system, so it’s expected to know the major planetary political figures. And the Alteans, Lance is always proud to say, are the most prominent of them all, known for their power and their peace, the best at politics and diplomacy. “You can call me Lance,” he adds with a smirk.

Keith looks unaffected by Lance’s look, glancing at the prince with distaste, then back at Lance. “Why did he bring _you_ here?”

Lance looks at Lotor helplessly, though it seems that Lotor is chuckling into his hand at Lance’s expense. Lance is irritated at what Keith has said, the tone in which he has said it, but he refrains from snapping back as he is still in the throne room. He starts to walk up the stairs and out of the lowered portion of the room, letting his cape billow out behind him.

He feels the quintessence tug at his wrist this time, and he turns and stares at Keith expectantly, until Keith jogs up the stairs as well.

Lotor’s and Haggar’s gazes are on him as he leaves the room, Keith walking slowly behind him. When the throne room doors shut behind them, the stifling atmosphere feels a lot lighter. The quintessence around him is no longer shielded, and he feels the full burst of energy wrapping around him.

“So what are you, exactly?” Lance spins around so he’s making eye contact with Keith. He’s admittedly a little rusty at the Galran language, so he hopes his message carries across correctly.

Whatever species constitutes Keith’s other half makes him shorter than his fellow Galra, so he is around Lance’s height, possibly a finger’s width shorter. The height difference pleases him more than it should. Oddly enough, Haggar and Lotor both appear to be of Altean height as well, similar to Keith. Perhaps the castle people run smaller than the other Galran citizens.

Keith stares at Lance, his gaze discomfiting. “My. . . species?” he asks, carefully.

The outfit he wears contrasts from Lance’s so much, he knows they make an odd pair. Where Lance is nearly all in white, accents of pastel blues and lilacs and golds, Keith is in a rough purple shirt that covers only half of his torso. The remainder of his outfit is a form-fitting black suit, hugging the curves of his arms and legs (really well, Lance admits to himself, eyeing his companion again, licking his lips). He wears fingerless black gloves, which stand out compared to his pale peach-and-purple skin. There’s a metal bracelet clamped on his left wrist.

“Your _job_ ,” Lance corrects, mentally scanning his Galran repertoire of words.

Keith shrugs. “They keep me around the palace because I’m a”—he says something that was never taught in Lance’s language classes, and Lance smiles a little hopelessly—“but what are you?”

“My species?” Lance repeats with a laugh, trying to lighten the environment between them. Keith doesn’t even smile, just looks confused.

“No? Your job?” He frowns, tilts his head to the side. He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. Lance says nothing, so Keith repeats himself, annunciating a little more. Then, irritated with Lance’s smirk, he continues, “Then what species are _you_?”

Lance snorts, then clasps a hand over his nose and mouth. Snorting was something he really only did when he and Allura were joking around with Coran and none of the other members of the royal court. It isn’t one of his more attractive laughs, compared to the ones he’s perfected for political situations or flirting. “Do you live in a cave or something?”

Keith scowls. “I _just_ said I lived in the palace—”

Is Keith doing this on purpose? He enjoys teasing people, but it loses its fun when the recipient is purposely playing dumb. Lance massages his temples. “I’m from Altea. I guess my job is. . .” He wonders what Keith would do if he said he was the prince, then shakes off the thought. Keith is choosing to pretend because he knows it irritates Lance, and since he knows Lance is the prince he’s probably asking what Lance is doing _here_. “I manipulate quintessence.”

“Quint. . .” Keith struggles with the word, but there’s a fierceness in his eyes that’s rather enchanting. Lance bites his lip to prevent the smile from tugging at his lips. “And you control it?” Lance nods. “What’s it for?”

Lance tries to think of the best way to describe quintessence.

It’s the magic that weaves together time and space, that constitutes a person’s spirit. It’s like an element, but a volatile one, which needs handling and attention. Every Altean has some semblance of this skill, even if it’s as simple as recognizing the presence of quintessence in the air. The Altean royals hold their title because of their strength in understanding the quintessence. Lance’s quintessence-manipulation ability allows him to mentally transverse the fabric of time so he can see the past and the future based on a specific quintessence, following that person’s thread as it exists in time in a particular reality.

“It’s like a thread that connects people and lives and time. It. . .” Lance pauses, considers, “It helps us exist.”

“That’s a powerful skill,” Keith offers with an awkward half smile. It’s clear on his face that he does not understand (but then, it could be the language barrier), but he seems to appreciate that Lance has this power. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Lance smiles. He rarely runs into people who don’t already understand the strength of the skills Alteans possess, and it’s encouraging, in a way, to suddenly be the most powerful person someone has met. Until Keith meets Allura, anyway.

Excited, Lance grabs Keith’s hand. He feels a burst of warmth at the touch. “I’ll show you”—

_“So where is that guy anyway?” you say casually, trying to ignore the palpable atmosphere. Everyone looks uncomfortable, and no one’s making eye contact with you, their gazes pointedly turned away. They’re all worn-down, like they’ve seen too much. (And they have, you all have.) Their uniforms are torn and bloodied, their injuries manageable but still horrible to look at, broken limbs, bruises and blood and open wounds._

_You hate seeing your friends this way. A part of you is itching to take care of them, to start treating their wounds and healing their minds. But one of your friends isn’t here, and he should definitely be here if everyone has just returned._

_The worry builds and builds. You search their faces—honestly, acting like this is making you think the worst, expect the worst, where_ is _he?—and someone clears their throat._

_“Lance. . .”_

_“Where is he?” Your voice breaks, your hands trembling as you wring them together. Hunk, your best friend in this time, just reaches out to hug you. You feels the painful sting of tears in your eyes and you don’t know why, when did you start crying? Why are you crying? You stand there, unmoving._

_“Where is he?” you repeat, almost helplessly._

_Someone should please_ answer _you, someone stop you from thinking what you’re thinking (from realizing, slowly, the truth)._

 _You had argued before this, sure, but, but. . . You left to_ help _them, you were giving them all the perfect chance. They didn’t and don’t need you, they have something better._

_“Lance. . .”_

_He isn’t. . . He can’t be. . ._

_(dead dead dead_ dead _)_

—Lance throws Keith’s hand away from him so forcefully he almost hears the smack of air pushed aside. Keith’s quintessence lingers, tugs on his hand, pulls him toward the memories. It’s tempting, almost, but the vision he’d just seen was very sad, the memory an aching one.

Why has Keith’s quintessence done this to him? Did they know each other in a past life?

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Keith asks, rubbing his wrist. He looks irritated, and he lets out a heavy breath that makes his bangs flutter.

Lance has never been connected to anyone like this before. He’s seen a few threads of quintessence connecting people, but never anything to this extent. Usually past lives don’t cross again, unless something horrible had happened before and something horrible was going to happen again.

It doesn’t sound too promising, and Lance doesn’t have time to deal with this.

Scowling and simultaneously trying to ignore his racing heartbeat, Lance manages a casual, “Well, maybe if your quintessence wasn’t so”—he can’t think of the word he can’t think of the word what is he trying to say—“ _disgusting_. . .”

He regrets the word choice as soon as he says it, but he almost feels like it would have been worse to say that he’d seen a shared memory of their past. They’ve only just met each other, and Lance isn’t sure how to feel about this Galra hybrid.

And maybe he can’t think of the right word to say in Galran, since he’s never had to say the word in Altean, but it’ll look even worse (to him at least) if he has to admit that he can’t properly be a diplomat with his language skills.

It takes Keith a moment to process what Lance has said, and then he makes an unattractive face. Lance can’t read his Galra eye very well, but the Altean-looking one looks hurt by Lance’s words before he breaks eye contact. He pulls his expression into a cooler one. “What,” Keith sneers, “you’re too weak to handle it, then?”

(nothing good can come out of this, why does Lance always bring about this kind of terror)

“I’d like to see your half-Galra ass even _try_!” Lance snaps, rising to the bait.

Keith’s thread of quintessence caresses his hand soothingly, further reminding Lance that there’s some kind of history (some kind of _connection_ ) between them, and Lance wants nothing more than to fling it aside.

He might question the usefulness of his own power sometimes, but to imply weakness without even possessing the ability to read the quintessence in the atmosphere just pisses Lance off. He doesn’t need some half-Galran commoner looking down on him when he already has enough to think about. He doesn’t need to connect them any more than this thread of quintessence already has.

Keith replies in words too fast (too foreign) for Lance to understand, waving his arms, and it leaves Lance even more frustrated. How can he not know what Keith is saying, even with such readable body language?

Lance sticks his tongue out at Keith, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Figure it out yourself, then!” Keith stomps off, though Lance can’t tell where he could possibly be headed. He can feel the quintessence around his hand tugging him back in Keith’s direction, but he refuses to be swayed.

“I’ll find the room without you,” Lance decides, determined to prove himself. He doesn’t need Keith. He can find the guest quarters by himself, can determine the story behind Daibazaal’s situation himself. He can read the quintessence in the air easily, especially without Keith’s own quintessence distracting him. This is better, since he won’t have to worry about someone seeing him in a weakened state.

He can take care of himself.

The more time he spends wandering the Galran palace, though, the calmer he becomes, the more clearly his thoughts organize. There wasn’t really a need for their fight, no real reason behind their separation.

He has no plans to be the first to apologize. Diplomat, prince, Altean, he will not be the first to give in.

* * *

Kyrmia is several galaxies away, and Lance and Allura are both eagerly standing by Coran, watching as the twin queens seat themselves on their thrones and prepare for guidance from their Altean allies.

Alteans are the finest of diplomats, and because Lance is several decaphoebs younger than Allura, this is his first time on a mission like this, his first opportunity (to attempt) to help others using his quintessence abilities. Though he’s used his skills before, it has always been unintentional or in extremely controlled environments, where his tutors have been watching and recording his every move, preventing him from practicing to his full capacity. For once, he’ll have to do something on his own.

Alfor has expressed his worry about Lance’s gift (and the potential darkness that could arise from using it too much), but he also can’t help the fondness he has for his younger child and he can’t restrain Lance’s desire to help others.

Thus, Lance is able to accompany Allura to Kyrmia.

“Welcome, Princess and Prince of Altea!” Their voices are high pitched and their Altean is rough, but their eagerness spreads and Lance is overwhelmed with their emotions, pleased at their excitement.

“Hello,” he greets, voice smooth. He raises his eyebrows flirtatiously—it’s a habit he can’t seem to break, and it always lightens the atmosphere and makes his companions (and himself) feel more comfortable—laughing at the pleased twittering of the twin queens.

“Will you help us, Prince Lanciel?”

“Call me Lance,” he offers easily, smiling until they, too, smile at him. They have beaks that don’t move when they speak but fold when they smile, so it is a little difficult to read them, at first.

“We’ll do everything in our power to help,” Allura promises, though she is looking at Lance in concern.

“When we heard about the assassination attempts we came right away!” Coran declares, and Lance and Allura nod in agreement.

The Kyrmians live in what they call a communal nest, a perfect blend of nature and technology to create an environment for everyone. The twin queens were elected after an insurrection of their previous kings, and all had seemed well in Kyrmia until recently. They reached out to Altea for advice upon hearing about the prince’s skills with quintessence, unaware that Lance is out of practice.

Supposedly there had been attempts on the queens’ lives, and such actions would throw their society into imbalance and alter their role set by the Intergalactic Treaties, which are additional reasons to help.

“Thank you,” says one queen gratefully.

“We appreciate your help,” agrees the other.

After a few more doboshes of discussion, the twin queens dismiss all but their most trusted guards. Lance follows everyone into the queens’ private discussion rooms, taking in the orange decorations rich in floral designs and the beautiful plants lining the corridors. It doesn’t take long to set up once they’re in the room. The queens sit down in front of Lance, and Lance stands in front of them, hands extended to reach for their threads of quintessence, his eyes closed.

 _You can do this_ , he tells himself. _Just like you’ve practiced._

The pleasant warmth of quintessence always soothes his worries and anxiousness about his skill, and he lets the waves of quintessence roll over him as he looks to the future, plucking at the brightest and most likely option, the frayed end of the thread with the golden glow.

_What. . ._

He is battered with image after image, feels the pain of the poison tearing through his throat, the betrayal of a brother feeling scorned, the emptiness of loss and death, the sibling left standing after a fierce destruction.

Looking to the future has always been something controlled, so he wouldn’t lose his way. Now, with the freedom to finally _see_ what he wants to see, it’s too much.

His head pounds and pounds, and his body feels weightless, like the threads of quintessence can carry him away.

(and maybe they should)

He wakes up in Allura’s arms, choking for breath, Coran grasping his hand, the faces of the twin queens peeking out behind the Alteans. There is worry and fear in everyone’s eyes.

Something awful churns in his stomach, and he feels the sting of acid at his throat, the unpleasant taste of bile. _Your brother_ , he wants to say, but the words are caught in his throat. Coran notices his struggle and pats his hand gently, shaking his head.

“Another time, young one,” he interrupts softly.

The twin queens are understanding as Lance is carried back to the ship (he wants to stand on his own but his legs feel like food goo and his head is pounding and he’s so lightheaded), but the guilt continues to build inside him. He is supposed to help them. He came here to help them. What good is he if all he’s doing is wasting time and making everyone take care of him?

He wants to tell her about the brother of the twin queens, the possible betrayal, the upcoming destruction, but he’s much too tired, eyelids heavy and body weak.

On the ship, Allura runs her fingers through his hair and explains, tired and sad and sounding much older than she is, “Your quintessence has changed. It’s so much darker now.”

He doesn’t feel any different, but everyone views him in a new light.

(he knows what they’re thinking and it makes him feel so small)

* * *

Lance ends up terribly lost.

It’s only been a handful of doboshes, maybe a varga that has passed, but he has no idea where he is anymore. He didn’t plan on getting lost, but it turns out that when a majority of the palace servants in Daibazaal are robot sentries with no quintessence to follow, it’s pretty easy to lose your way. And Lance is pointedly ignoring the warm tugging thread of Keith’s quintessence around his hand, so he’s low on options. He supposes he can locate Lotor—he has no intention of tracking down Haggar, who makes him a little uncomfortable with her smirking silence and quick slinking through hallways—but that would be admitting defeat.

“I’m not going to lose!” Lance decides, running his fingers through his hair.

There had been something odd about the reasoning behind Keith’s arrival, and Lance isn’t sure what to make of it. Haggar had brought Keith to be his guide for a specific reason, and though it is a little suspicious for it to be related to their possibly shared past, Lance can’t think of any other reason to have brought Keith and no one else. But that would imply that Haggar could read quintessence in the same way that Lance could, which is impossible considering the unique aspects of quintessence and the different intricacies of each Altean’s gift.

A Galran woman could never hope to wield quintessence in such a way.

The quintessence around Lance’s hand gets warmer.

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

“Quiznack!” Lance tries not to let his surprise show on his face. He mumbles a few more curses in Altean, trying to give his heart time to calm down.

“You’ve wandered past here four times,” Keith says, crossing his arms. He doesn’t say anything else, but Lance wonders if he’s expecting Lance to ask for help. He won’t.

“And what, you just stood and watched me?” he snaps back.

Keith blinks at him, eyes wide (and they’re pretty, very pretty when they’re angry but more so when they’re not, and suddenly Lance doesn’t _really_ mind looking at them). “Huh?”

Lance sighs, irritated when he realizes that he responded in Altean. He hopes he won’t mess up his languages next time, though it’s annoying that he’s made this mistake in the first place, and in front of this Galran hybrid. He repeats himself in slow, accented Galran. It had been miscommunication that separated them in the first place, so he shouldn’t let it happen again.

Keith smirks in reply. “Yeah? It was funny.” Lance makes a face that causes Keith’s smirk to soften. He uncrosses his arms and shrugs a little. “They let me out for you, so you must be important.”

 _Let you out? What the quiznack?_ Lance forces himself to put a haughty look on his face. “Of course I’m important, Keith.”

“Not important enough for a better tour guide, though,” Keith offers. His voice is void of emotion and flat during the delivery, but there’s an unsure look in his eyes that softens Lance’s heart. He’s trying to joke around? Is this his attempt at an apology?

Lance gives him a half-smile, an unspoken apology shared between them. Keith’s entire body seems to relax at Lance’s smile. When he’s not as tense, he isn’t that bad to look at, isn’t that bad to talk to. He seems a lot nicer, this way. The quintessence connecting them seems to glow brighter, and Lance sighs. He needs to avoid reading anything of Keith’s past or future. Maybe avoid touching him so he isn’t thrown back into a memory.

“Lead the way, Sir Hybrid!” he declares.

Keith looks uncomfortable as he turns to face Lance, features scrunched together as though he’s tasted something bad. It’s a stark contrast from the previous look that made Lance’s heartbeat flutter. “Can you. . . talk a little slower?”

A witty comeback forms on his tongue and he quickly reconsiders and snuffs it out. It doesn’t benefit either of them to argue, and Lance has already lost a varga of opportunity to read quintessence. How many lives are at risk because he hadn’t initially gotten along with Keith? Lance raises an eyebrow, tries to smirk, “Why?”

Keith doesn’t seem to want to admit what’s bothering him, but Lance replays their previous conversations in his head and thinks he has an idea.

“Then you talk slower, too!” Lance decides. He tries not to let his relief at the idea show. He has a hard time understanding Keith, too, and if they both just talk a little slower then they wouldn’t have to worry about their previous miscommunications. He’s a little annoyed that he isn’t the one to suggest it, but he’s also glad he isn’t the one to have to ask. “I don’t want to look like I’m the dumb one between us when it's clearly _you_.”

Keith nods quickly, face clearly relieved. Then he smirks. “Me talking slower won’t make you look any less dumb.”

Lance makes a somewhat undignified squawking sound, ready to shove Keith for his words. “Rude!” He refrains from touching Keith, though, not ready to touch any of those memories.

Keith laughs, and it’s dry and somehow pretty, and Lance can’t help his small smile.

(Lotor is much prettier to look at and much easier to talk to compared to Keith, but there’s something oddly pleasing about getting these little laughs and expressions he’s teasing out of this hybrid.)

Keith gestures toward a hallway Lance hadn’t noticed at all in the supposed four times he’d wandered through this area. The Altean castle is terrible to navigate as well, but he’s grown accustomed to it, and the lighting in this palace is dim and violet and not conducive for Altean vision and navigation.

They start toward one of the doors, Keith leading, and then Keith stops suddenly. Lance hears a weird crackling sound as he runs into Keith’s back, jolting at the touch.

“Watch where you’re going!” Keith sounds breathless more than he sounds angry.

“What?” Lance scowls. Keith was the one who randomly decided to change direction. “It’s not my fault you don’t even know your way around this maze of a palace!”

Keith shrugs, fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist. “Let’s just go this way.”

They change direction.

“So what do you do around here?” Lance says conversationally. They turn a corner and follow a seemingly hidden hallway to another staircase.

“When?”

“What?”

Keith pauses and Lance replays the conversation in his head, trying to figure out where it went. “I’m not sure what happens in the palace usually, but everyone’s been busy lately.” Lance follows him up several flights of stairs. “That must be why they called you.”

Lance shrugs, though Keith isn’t looking at him. “They called for my sister,” he says lightly, though there’s a twinge at his heart when he says it.

They’re both quiet for a few ticks. “Does she have the same power as you?” Keith wonders.

“I mean, I’m pretty unique,” Lance says with an air of nonchalance, stretching his arms and flashing Keith a dazzling smile.

Keith’s face splotches several shades of dark red and purple, an unattractively attractive blush that makes Lance smile and makes his face warm, too. "Yeah." Lance lets his smile fade and considers if flirting is the best method to talk to Keith.

(he likes the reactions he draws from people, the feeling that he, alone, can make someone happy)

“Her power might be more useful for something like what Daibazaal is dealing with,” Lance admits, fiddling with his cape and refusing to meet Keith’s eyes.

“That doesn’t mean your power isn’t needed, though,” Keith interrupts earnestly, a bit too quickly for Lance to understand. It is silent for several ticks, as Lance replays the words in his head. “I-I mean. . .”

Keith doesn’t give Lance any time to consider his words (or any time for him to correct himself, either, and judging by the dark flush on his face, he definitely wants to) before he gestures for him to follow up a staircase much narrower than the others, winding up and up to the top of the tallest tower of the Galra palace.

“Weren’t you supposed to take me to my room?” Lance jokes, smoothing out his outfit. “You trying for some alone time?” he adds with a smirk, shaking his head when Keith raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

“I’m explaining what’s going on,” Keith says, cheeks darkening, “since this is more important.”

“Relaxing in the Galran palace is also pretty important,” Lance argues, though he silently agrees with the choice to focus on this first. They’ve already wasted enough time, and Lance would rather do what he can now and rest until Allura arrives rather than do nothing until it’s too late. He wishes his power could do more, that he could actually impact the lives of the Daibazaal citizens. As it stands, he is barely playing a supporting role.

He’s always torn between playing the role of the slacking little brother (so their expectations are low and he can’t let them down if they don’t expect much from him) or the charming and hardworking prince (who just can’t reach Allura’s level, whose hard work never gets him anywhere). He doesn’t know who to be.

Keith narrows his eyes but says nothing. The room they’re in is small, covered in books and loose parchment and odd little vials of mysterious glowing substances. It’s definitely a chamber meant for a druid’s studies, but Lance supposes they are here for the view. The walls are covered in papers as well, but there is a large and wide window overlooking the capital city.

It would be beautiful, if not for all the ruin he sees when he looks outside. It twists his heart in an unpleasant way, seeing the fading quintessence outside, the blood, the collapse.

He needs to help them.

“They started appearing maybe a movement ago,” Keith says, when Lance finally turns his head away from the window. “Based on your description of quintessence, I think it might have something to do with that.”

Lance doesn’t like the sound of that. “Has anyone investigated? What has everyone in the palace been up to?”

“I'd like to investigate. . .” Keith clenches his hands into fists, looking frustrated. Lance cannot understand why. “From what I’ve heard and pieced together, the beasts are going after Galrans for something and killing them for it. Quintessence seems like a valuable _something_ , I just don’t know why.”

“That’s probably why they reached out to Altea,” Lance figures, biting his lip. “If the monsters are going after quintessence, this brings a different dimension to the attacks.”

Keith’s eyes seem to light up. “Yes! They’re being sent from somewhere by someone, but we’d need to figure out the motive. Daibazaal doesn’t have a lot of resources, so there isn’t—”

Lance can’t help his laugh, and he covers his nose and mouth with his hand when he realizes he might snort in laughter. “Did they send you to talk to me because you’re a”—he can’t think of the word again, and he settles on saying it in Altean—“conspiracy theorist?”

“A. . . what?” Keith looks so confused with the small pout on his lips and his raised eyebrow.

“You know.” Lance tries to think of a good way to describe it. “One of those people who thinks the government is lying about everything.”

“They are,” Keith agrees with a sage nod.

Lance’s laugh quiets, and he turns back to look out the window again. “There aren’t many strong threads of quintessence out there right now,” Lance admits, shifting the subject back, “but I’ll see what I can follow.”

He isn’t sure how weak he’ll be after this, and he would rather not pass out in front of a stranger (even if they have a history, he isn’t sure if Keith is trustworthy), but he can’t risk putting innocent people’s lives in danger. There has already been so much destruction on Daibazaal, and he can’t bear to bring about more.

It’s been maybe a decaphoeb since he last used his power, so it might not weaken him as much as it has in the past. He can handle it.

He sucks in a breath, letting the feelings consume him.

He looks down outside of the palace, surveying the land beyond the wall, the broken buildings, the abandoned city, the fallen society. He can’t find one singular thread of quintessence as he had earlier when following Keith’s quintessence, but there are some fading wisps to track.

When he looks at quintessence, he focuses on the air long enough that it shifts away and he’s left seeing the magical meshwork that creates their world. The specific bonds between living things generates an energy represented by quintessence, which he sees manifested as a glowing golden thread, though quintessence itself is all-encompassing and takes up the atmosphere entirely.

Altean royals have the ability to manipulate the strands of quintessence, but doing so could wreak havoc, as it destroys the bonds between lives. It’s something Lance has never tried and has no intention of doing.

He extends a hand out the window, beckoning the fading light of this living creature’s quintessence to reach him. He feels its weakened pull and he lets it sit on his palm, offering its warmth and light and healing. This is not a Galra’s quintessence, not anymore.

Closing his eyes, he lets his mind follow the quintessence—

_The beast stands tall over you, a dark burgundy shell with glowing yellow markings trailing up and down its arms and legs. Its face is the most horrifying feature, a skull with a robotic brain protruding out, a glowing mechanical eye scanning your city, your home._

_Is this beast_ made _by someone? Did someone send it here to hurt you?_

 _But why? You haven't done anything, you've been living your life and you've been_ happy _. . ._

 _You stumble backward, breathless, unable to tear your eyes away as the beast turns its head away to snatch up another one of your friends. You know you need to do something but you can’t. You’re paralyzed in fear and shock and you just can't breathe or think or move, not when this being is so close to you and so large and formidable and_ horrible _._

 _It lets out a piercing wail and swipes one of its long arms at a nearby building. The_ crunch _of the stone crumbling under the monster’s touch, the sounds of screaming and crying, broken bones and crushed spirits, the destruction is just too much. The sounds hurt to hear, but so does the smell. The air fills with dust and smoke and Galrans are all around you, backing away from this monster before it can get to them._

_You attempt to stand and run with them, but you can’t tear your eyes away from this horror._

_The beast makes a rumbling sound, like it is laughing, and then the air is bright and stifling, and it feels electric, like something is coursing through you and ripping you apart from the inside and your very being is torn out of you and away away_ away—

His eyes snap open.

Keith is holding him awkwardly, one arm wrapped around Lance’s body as the other tries to keep them both standing. Had he fallen this time? Had he passed out? Keith’s hold is more than uncomfortable as Lance tries to stumble out of his grasp, unable to keep his balance. His mind is somewhere, not here, his head aching.

He doesn’t have enough energy to read Keith’s quintessence through touch again, thankfully. His mind knows its limits (even if he doesn’t know them himself sometimes).

His whole body is sore, as it usually is after he reads the quintessence of time, and he feels winded, like he was the one running from the beast, like he was the one who just had his quintessence yanked out of him.

His heartbeat is too fast and his body is too warm and he can’t breathe when Keith is this close he just needs space and time and _what the quiznack is going on_?

The monsters have been manufactured in some way, created for this purpose of stealing quintessence. The beast from his vision was robotic, unnatural. It was specifically searching for quintessence, collecting it and tossing aside the Galran people like garbage. Lance wants to vomit.

“Are you. . . okay?” Keith’s voice is rough yet soft, but it grates on his ears like he’s shouting, and Lance can’t help cringing at the sound of Keith’s words.

His head pounds heavily, and he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take deep and calming breaths. He still needs to follow that quintessence _forward_ in time, he still needs to figure out how to defeat these monsters. How useless is he if he’s going to pass out after one quintessence reading? How can he consider himself a prince if he can’t even properly use his power?

It’s been long enough since he used his power last that he should have been _fine_!

He pulls himself free of Keith’s hold (he thought he’d done it already, where has his mind gone), stumbling and falling forward.

Keith’s arms are around his waist again, keeping him from hitting the floor, and he swallows back the acid burning his throat.

“Let’s go back to your room,” Keith whispers, scratchy and unsure.

Lance does not (cannot) reply.


	2. day two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is much later than i intended to post it i'm sorry!! halloween has long passed and there isn't a lot going on in this (but there's a ton of foreshadowing tbh, i'm just stupidly wordy and crap at pacing in my writing) but i hope you like this regardless!

When Lance is a child, the royal family first realizes the extent of his quintessence powers. He’s playing with his friends, laughing at the threads of light he sees surrounding them and connecting them (only a handful of other Alteans see quintessence as threads, he will later learn, as seeing the golden bonds of quintessence is a rare gift and he is _so lucky_ since everyone else only gets small glimpses), and he reaches out and _sees_.

He can’t remember what it was that he’d seen, both then and now, nothing but a child who accidentally read too much.

(and they beg him to remember, tears in their eyes, can you look again, can you tell us what you saw, do you know what to do to fix it?)

He slips into easy unconsciousness once the thread is in his hands. When he wakes up, he has no recollection of the memory or of what had happened when he’d been in the flower field with his playmates. His caretakers are worried, he’d been mumbling things, thrashing about.

His friend dies a few quintants later, and his friend’s parents have such a haunted look in their eyes when they see him, when they tell him his quintessence is dark, tainted.

The guilt gnaws at him for decaphoebs to come. He doesn’t remember (chooses not to remember) his friend’s name.

* * *

Lance isn’t sure what happened between when he saw the manufactured beasts stealing quintessence and when he awakens in a guest bedroom, but he aches all over and wants nothing more than to go back to dreamless sleeping bliss.

“Lance!” The voice is chastising but worried, and Lance blinks himself out of his stupor. “ _Lanciel_.”

He’d recognize that haughty yet caring tone anywhere. “’llura?” he mumbles, pulling himself up into a sitting position. How much time has passed, if Allura is here now? The bed isn’t as comfortable as his bed in Altea, but it’s fairly large and covered in warm and fluffy blankets. The room is sparsely decorated in dark purples (he really should talk to Lotor and the Galra about their color schemes and interior decorating choices), dark curtains blocking all light from filtering into the room.

“Lance,” she breathes, obviously relieved.

His face feels greasy and his hair feels gross, and he realizes in horror that he had passed out before getting to perform his bedtime routine. “Do you have my supplies?”

“What.” She is, unsurprisingly, unamused. She’s wearing her least favorite dress for political situations, one that matches well with Lance’s current outfit—he’s disgusted that he had to wear these clothes to bed, he wore it when he traveled through the galaxy and walked through a destroyed city, _honestly_ . What kind of _heathen_ do the Galra take him for?

“Allura,” Lance whines. He doesn’t want to go back to the pod he’d left at the edge of the city. It only has his backup supplies, since Allura has his main set. It’s his own fault for traveling to the palace without all of his things, but he hadn’t expected the situation to turn out like this.

“Let’s talk about how you deliberately read Galran quintessence despite promising not to!” Allura’s voice rises shrilly.

Lance smiles to try and diffuse the situation, though he places a hand on his head to try calming his headache and most likely loses his nonchalant appearance. He feels the warmth of Keith’s quintessence surrounding him, and it’s much more pleasant than he expects for a thread that’s following him everywhere. Is Keith nearby? Why?

Prince Lotor and Haggar, with their muted quintessence, are more important Galra for him to interact with, now. But the thought of the Galra hybrid visiting him makes his heart beat a little faster, his face a little warmer.

“What do you want me to say?” He decides on asking.

Maybe he had promised not to, but doing nothing only adds to his inadequacies. It’s not like he enjoys breaking promises. Why have a power at all if he isn’t going to use it? Why travel to Daibazaal in the first place?

(Why call himself the Altean prince?)

He isn’t going to stand aside _waiting_ if he can help people. And, after seeing what had happened to the Galran in his quintessence vision, he isn’t going to sit around any longer. What happens to him isn’t as important. He doesn’t want anyone else getting hurt.

Allura sighs, moving to sit on the edge of Lance’s bed. “I know it’s frustrating. Father only wanted to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Because we don’t know what will happen if I use my powers too much, and I’d best focus my skills on what we know most about,” Lance recites from memory. He’s heard the speech so many times, especially after they’d started seeing how tired and hurt Lance would become after he would analyze the quintessence of time.

He remembers how excited he’d been when he found out he was the first and only person to wield such a skill. No one else could look through time like he could, no one else could see the connections between energy and existence. They had seers and druids and royalty and scientists and none of them could use quintessence to understand the bonds between people and time.

He was so proud of his skill, until he realized he’s a liability whenever he uses it. Every time he mentally traverses time, his body slowly loses its own energy, his own quintessence fraying in the process, darkening and shifting and fading. Afterward, he is weak and useless and needs to be cared for, someone who can’t be taken to a battlefield, someone who can’t use his power in public, someone with a duller (darker, twisted, wrong) quintessence.

It hadn’t been the brightest of ideas to use his power in front of Keith, and he knows that, but he also can’t bring himself to regret it. He consciously made the decision to do it, because the lives of the unknown Galra citizens are more important than his reputation to one person (though he wouldn’t have minded if it had been a different person to witness him). He’s not sure of Keith’s exact role in this palace, but he trusts his own quintessence-reading abilities enough that he knows Keith won’t publicize the information.

(he also trusts that, after the little time they’ve spent together, he knows this Galran hybrid well enough that Keith isn’t the type to say anything)

Allura looks so sad to hear Lance speaking this way, to see whatever expression has befallen his face, so he quickly perks up, forcing his own churning feelings aside for another time. He can’t have her worrying about him when she has so much _else_ to be worrying about—he’d only be more of a liability than he already undoubtedly is.

“But, since I already did it. . .” He keeps his tone light and wiggles his eyebrows in the way he knows she can’t help but laugh at, waiting for her to smile before smiling back. “Let me do my morning regimen and we can talk about what I saw?”

She sighs fondly, though the worry is still in her eyes as she leans forward to ruffle his hair. “My favorite little brother. . .”

“I’m your only brother; I’d better be your favorite!” Lance forces himself to get out of bed, ignoring the ache of his body as he stands. “Lanciel is _every_ body’s favorite!”

“Your products are in the bathroom,” she says with a small and sad laugh.

A little over a varga later, Lance waltzes out of the bathroom smelling fresh and feeling clean. The warmth of the shower helps relieve a lot of his body’s aching, and he feels so much better now that he’s not coated in layers of dirt and dust, wearing an outfit that he knows brings out the bright blue of his eyes.

He’s rubbing lotion onto his skin when Allura makes an unattractive grunting noise. “Are you quite finished?”

Lance sticks out his tongue but goes a little faster to finish his routine, plopping onto the bed next to his sister. “Have you talked to Haggar and Prince Lotor yet?”

Allura nods. “Haggar lowered the wall so I could enter the palace.” She makes a sound that makes it clear to Lance that she isn’t the biggest fan of Haggar. “She. . . isn’t the most _talkative_. . .”

Lance snorts. That’s one way of putting it. “Then you noticed they’re shielding their quintessence,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as though the Galran royals could hear them. For all he knows, maybe they can. He doesn’t know what he’s suspicious of, exactly, but it’s something he and Allura should watch, especially with all the thievery of quintessence that is happening in Daibazaal now. He wonders if the Galra hybrid has something to hide as well, but his quintessence is ever-present, warm and wrapping around Lance’s hand again as though it senses Lance’s thoughts.

“Yes. I wonder how they’re able to do it, as it’s a magic only Alteans have been able to master.” Allura folds her hands together on her lap. “It’s hardly our main focus, though. We can concern ourselves with this _after_ we solve the problem with the beasts. When you checked, did you look into the past or the future?”

“The past.” Lance thinks back to the memory he’d experienced, the horrors he’d seen, the feeling of quintessence being yanked out of him, a vital part of his life lost. “It wasn’t good,” he says, hoping to shield Allura from the experience. “The beasts take these people’s quintessence away.”

“What?” Allura looks horrified. “How?”

Lance frowns. “I also think they’re being made by someone. They aren’t living creatures, exactly. They’re mechanical. Robots, but living? They seemed to have a little quintessence of their own.”

“Ah.”

They’re both thinking the same thing, then. Who would create monsters like this? Who needs this much quintessence? Why? Quintessence has always been an entity that was simply _there_. Understanding it is a gift but not a necessity, and there has never been a true need to know all of its intricacies.

“If Alteans are the only people who can manipulate quintessence, though, would this imply that an Altean created the beast?”

Allura closes her eyes, obviously displeased with the idea. It’s something to consider, though, not something they can easily brush aside. “Regardless of who created the robot, what would be the goal of taking away all this quintessence? It isn’t a harvestable form of energy, so I’m not sure the reason behind taking it.”

“I wish I knew.” Lance pauses, frowns. “If I look to the future maybe I’d find out?”

Allura looks torn at the idea, and, admittedly, Lance is unsure himself. He’s barely recovered from the first time, and he needs to be at full strength by the moonrise so he can help Allura with whatever ritual they’ll perform to rid Daibazaal of their monster infestation. He isn’t sure if he can handle another vision, but he’ll do it if he’s needed.

“Let’s just work with what we have,” Allura decides. “We can’t risk _you_.”

 _Your quintessence is already much darker than a few quintants ago_ remains unsaid.

Lance smiles, oddly relieved. He’d like to help, like to be less of a burden, but it’s a daunting task to traverse time, and he isn’t at his best to be trying it right away. Perhaps, if they need him later, he’ll try again. It would be worth the loss of energy (the loss of his own light).

“I’m going to set up the equipment for later, then.” Allura stands up and smoothes out the creases of her dress.

Lance feels the tug of quintessence on his wrist and knows Keith is at the door before he even knocks.

Upon hearing the knock, he and his sister stare at the door until their visitor makes his way inside.

“Lan—Oh.” Keith looks surprised to see Allura in the room as well, flashing an awkward smile that shows off his pointed teeth. “I wanted to see if you were feeling better.”

Allura glances at Lance, lips drawn into a frown and eyes both searching Lance and sending him disapproving messages. He can tell she isn’t happy to know that Lance’s weakness is now maybe common knowledge in the Galra palace, and he’s sure she won’t be thrilled to find out that Keith had been the one to return Lance to the guest room during the prior quintant.

“I am Princess Allura of Altea,” she says, extending a hand to Keith. “I apologize for my brother.”

Keith stares at her hand then looks at Lance, ears flattening on his head and lower lip jutting out in a slight pout. “Princess?” Allura lowers her hand after a few more ticks pass (perhaps shaking hands isn’t a Galra custom?), and Lance sees the realization dawning on Keith’s face, the darkening flush staining his cheeks. “You’re a—”

“Wait,” he interrupts, “you didn’t know?” The laugh bubbles out of his chest before he can stop it, his smile stretching wide. There’s an oddly pleasant warmth in his chest when he looks at Keith’s expression, the confused pinch of his eyebrows and the now full pout of his lips. His quintessence remains bright and warm, brushing Lance’s skin gently.

“I am. . . very confused.” Allura directs a helpless smile at Keith, shaking her head. She speaks in perfect Galran despite her lack of practice, though the softness of some of her words hints that it is not her mother tongue. “How do you know my brother?”

Keith looks at Lance again, sighing. He looks embarrassed to have been oblivious to this information. “I led him to his room yesterday.”

Allura seems to be examining him, and he squirms at the attention. She can probably see the brightness of his quintessence, that it is warm and resonates similar to Lance’s own. “Are you a sentry?” Lance’s ears perk up. He doesn’t really understand Keith’s role in the palace either, and their conversation the previous quintant had been too awkward for him to get clarification.

“No.” Keith fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I’m just a half-breed.”

It doesn’t answer any of Lance’s or Allura’s questions, but it would seem rude to let this conversation progress any further. And Prince Lance is _anything_ but rude.

He wonders, for a dobosh, if Allura can sense that there’s quintessence that connects him with this Galran. Alteans can read quintessence, but Allura’s skill lies in direct absorption and redirection of quintessence while his is more in reading and understanding the way it connects different existences. He isn’t sure how strong of a connection he and Keith share, if Allura can see it regardless of her lack of ability in this department.

“He’s a conspiracy theorist,” Lance tells Allura in Altean. She looks more confused than ever, unsure if she should take Lance seriously, a placating smile on her lips. Keith, on the other hand, looks suspicious of Lance’s switch in language.

“So are you. . . okay?” Keith asks again, slow and unsure as he looks between the royal siblings.

“I’m doing fine!” Lance declares, standing up and stretching his arms. He’s wearing a similar outfit to his other one, though the colors of his outfit are a little darker, with white as the accent to a darker blue. “I’m always _fine_ ,” he adds with a wink, laughing as Allura rolls her eyes and Keith’s face darkens in a blush.

Lance’s clothes really brighten his eyes, and he knows the winking draws even more attention to his face, something made plain by Keith’s expression. His flirting in Galran might not be the best—when he flirts in Altean, he knows he makes hearts flutter—but seeing expressions like this always makes his heart beat pleasantly faster.

Allura gives them both a tight smile. “I’ll be setting up for the ritual later. Try to keep Lance out of trouble,” she adds as an afterthought, glancing at Keith. Lance knows that Allura prefers doing things like this on her own, but the sting of not being wanted always resounds for a long enough while afterward. “I’d like him in one piece if possible.”

Keith smirks at Lance. “As if anything we do could contain him.”

She shakes her head, giving Lance a look.

He tries to smile back, though he’s a little irritated. He doesn’t need anyone watching him like she seems to think, especially since he isn’t really needed for the quintessence ceremony later. Her looks always convey one too many messages, and he knows she’s not too pleased with his choice of witness from the previous quintant’s escapades.

She’d probably rather that no one sees Lance in his failures, so no one else would know about how much of a disappointment he is.

(he knows he isn’t always fair to Allura, but it’s hard to be when she’s literally the perfect older sibling, the perfect Altean princess, the perfect leader; and he’s _just Lance_ )

“I’ll do my own thing for a bit.” Lance forces his smile, trying to at least make it seem that their parting is his idea. “I’ll meet up with you before the ritual.”

Keith watches Allura go, then turns to Lance, scowling. He crosses his arms. “You didn’t say that using your power hurts you.”

Lance raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s been awhile,” he says truthfully, keeping his tone purposefully light as he continues with a lie, “it’s never happened before.”

Keith doesn’t seem to believe him, but Lance is relying on the fact that Keith doesn’t know him well enough to further the argument. His eyes are bright when he says, “Don’t do it again.”

Lance snorts, tone slightly mocking to hide his racing heart. “Aww, why? Do you care?” Lance looks away from Keith and glances at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting the circlet on his head so it sits perfectly straight. He looks tired, still, and he can see in his own eyes that he’s a liar liar liar.

Keith doesn’t say anything, standing in silence in Lance’s room as Lance ignores him and tries to focus on his appearance. He still feels Keith’s gaze, though, still feels the piercing stare of his mismatched eyes.

“What?” he demands, as Keith asks, awkwardly, “Can I show you around?”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Lance watches as Keith avoids eye contact, blushing and fiddling with the bracelet on his left wrist.

“Really?” he asks, slow, as though he expects Keith to rescind his offer. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Keith does change his mind, just because of how uncomfortable he looks. But he can also see that Keith is trying, which is flattering all on its own. _He_ is the one who had this impact. _He_ is the one making this part-Galran servant a nervous mess. He doesn’t think he was imagining the slight admiration in Keith’s earlier tone, though his excitement at that thought is quickly dashed by the realization that Keith is being ordered to give him a tour. “ _You_ want to lead the _prince_ of Altea around your palace?”

Lance is going to explore the palace regardless, and he plans to look around the ruins of the surrounding city once more, so it wouldn’t hurt to have someone more familiar with Daibazaal giving him the grand tour. He’s just teasing, anyway. Keith would probably get in trouble if he can’t fulfill his order to show Lance around the palace.

Keith uncrosses his arms and clenches his hands into fists, staring at Lance with determination as he nods.

He wants to laugh at the seriousness of Keith’s expression, but it’s more endearing than anything, and he feels his own face grow warm at the look directed at him.

The whole thing is very. . . sweet.

“Show me around the castle then?” His voice is much more flirtatious than he initially intends. When he sees the dark rush of blood to Keith’s cheeks, though, Lance’s own heart quickens.

Keith seems to relax at the answer, a small smile on his lips despite his flustered, “I, uhh, sure.”

Lance spins so his cape flutters around him, since he knows it adds to his charm when he wears outfits like these. He doesn’t get the chance to see Keith’s expression before Keith is leading him out of the room, his back to Lance. He feels the slight tug of the quintessence by his hand, and he picks up his pace so he and Keith are side by side.

“So. . .”

Conversation flows much more easily between them when they aren’t aiming to make things difficult because of their challenges in understanding the other’s manner of speaking.

(“It’s not the preferred weapon for a prince”—they want him to excel at the sword, since it’s a classic weapon, it’s what Alfor was known for—“but I’m not too shabby with a blaster,” he says with pride. He never misses. He knows he’s more than ‘not too shabby.’

“Blaster?”

“Uhh,” he considers, “I guess you could call it a gun?”

Keith nods in understanding. “I practice with a knife.” It’s similar to a sword, and something twinges in Lance’s chest. “I’m ‘not too shabby’ either,” he adds, smirking. Lance’s heart flutters, and he looks away.

They’re both quiet as Keith leads them through the hallway and up some stairs.

“Would you maybe want to spar?” he offers.

Lance smiles.)

Lance likes to think that he has a lot of friends in Altea, since he’s made a point to know everyone in the castle and he leaves to visit the people as often as he can. None of his friends are quite like Keith, though, as Keith is a blunt (awful) tour guide who doesn’t understand any of Lance’s references or jokes and has a hard time following their conversations despite his obvious interest and admiration in what Lance has to say.

(“I used to cheer from the stands at the Voltron Games, I was Hunk’s personal. . .” he can’t think of the word he wants to use, so he says it in Altean, “cheerleader.”

“What?”

Lance grins. “One of the people who boosts morale. I’m the best at that. Like, ‘I say _Vol_ \- and you say - _tron_.’ Let’s try it: Vol-?”

“Voltron?” Keith looks very confused. “What’s a ‘Voltron?’ Why don’t you just say the whole word?”

“I mean, that’s not really the point of the cheer—”

“But it’s faster to just say ‘Voltron’ so you can do more cheers. Wouldn’t that be better?”

“No.” Lance shakes his head. “Just. No.”

Keith looks pouty as he gestures to a large ballroom, explaining that it is where Lotor hosts dinner parties and invites the families of the Galran military families to the palace. Zarkon, apparently, is not a fan of parties, and this remains a point of discrepancy between the two. The ballroom is beautiful, though, much brighter and more extensively decorated than the rest of the palace. Lance imagines being invited to dinner parties here, sighing.

He has friends in Altea, but no one he would take with him across the galaxy to a Galran dinner party.)

Keith is lucky that Lance is so adept at socializing that everything appears to flow smoothly. He wonders if Keith even realizes that he says things that stunt their conversations. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Keith is doing it intentionally.

(“I traveled a lot when I was younger, since Allura’s older and was getting trained for political stuff. I’ve never been here though. Daibazaal’s very different.”

Keith nods. “I grew up here.”

Neither of them says anything, and Lance hurries to manipulate Keith’s dead-end answer into something that continues the conversation.

“Where in Daibazaal have you been, then? I think I’ve been to most places on Altea now.”

Keith deliberates this for a moment, settling on, “Just the capital.”

Sighing, Lance tries again, “Yeah, and my favorite place is this open garden not too far from the capital. There’re so many flowers and it smells so pretty. . .”

“That sounds nice,” Keith admits, and Lance lets out a short-lived relieved breath. “I’ve really only seen the palace.”

Their conversation lulls again.)

“We can’t go here,” Keith says, interrupting Lance’s thoughts and redirecting them yet another time.

“You’re pretty terrible at showing me around,” Lance jokes, following Keith as he rounds another corner then shifts and changes direction so they loop back to where they were before.

“Thanks,” he says dryly, tone unreadable. He walks quickly despite his shorter legs, so Lance needs to maintain a steady jog to keep up with him sometimes. But he always makes sure that Lance has enough time to see and appreciate the palace. “Your approval means so much.”

Lance shrugs, chuckling as Keith changes direction again. So far, among other things, he’s seen a few of the other guest bedrooms—and a few were nicer than his, he’s going to have to bring this up with Lotor, he’s the _prince of Altea_ —and a massive library, as well as the kitchens and a room with a large window that shows off a beautiful view of the capital of Daibazaal. Despite the ruins outside, Daibazaal is beautiful in its darkness. Lance wouldn’t mind visiting again.

Their conversation stays on safe topics, focusing more on their cultural differences and curiosities though occasionally revealing a hint of something deeper. Lance is skilled in swaying the conversation back to calmer waters, but Keith lets the conversation dwindle to nothing, making Lance do the work to repair it.

“I snuck out of the castle so often they changed the rules for me,” Lance says proudly, smiling at the thought.

Everyone had gotten so tired of trying to track him down, they just told him to come back by a certain time and left him be. He’d met the castle’s future head scientist by sneaking out, finding the person whose quintessence had a similar resonance to his. Katriona-Katie-call-me-Pidge is one of his best friends at home, and he can’t wait to tell her about Daibazaal.

“I don’t really leave the palace,” Keith admits, picking up his pace so Lance has to scramble to keep up.

“Why? Don’t you get days off?”

Keith is quiet for a moment, though he doesn’t stop walking. “It’s not like you do, either!”

“I’m a prince!” Lance glances at Keith, thinking of a better way to phrase his question. “What do you do when you’re not showing strikingly handsome Altean princes around the palace?” He smirks and raises his eyebrows.

“I’ve never shown the palace to anyone like that,” Keith says flatly, though the small smile on his lips when Lance makes a dramatic indignant noise makes it worth the slight insult. Lance continues his expectant stare at Keith, until Keith finally replies, “Umm, I like to look at the stars? I’d like to leave the palace, one day.”

Keith’s eyes are bright and expressive (and so very pretty), and Lance feels his words get stuck in his throat.

He can’t maintain eye contact without a strangely pleasant fluttering feeling growing in his stomach, so he glances at Keith’s wrist, where the quintessence loops around his fingers and up his hand. The thread is perfectly tangled with him and around his bracelet, an anchor to the end that loops around Lance’s right hand.

“You should visit me in Altea,” he manages to say, before he can change his mind.

“Y-you’d want me there?” Keith almost stops walking, Lance hears the scuff of his footsteps. “But don’t I look—”

Lance is about to tear his eyes away from the quintessence (not to look at Keith’s face, of course not) when the bracelet around Keith’s wrist glows a dull purple, crackling with the sound of electricity. Keith stops walking immediately, and Lance nearly rams into him. He almost trips on his own feet as he’s backing away so they don’t touch and he isn’t forcibly thrown into a quintessence-driven memory.

“I. . . We can’t go this direction,” Keith grumbles, rubbing the bracelet. The thread of quintessence between them quivers almost imperceptibly.

Lance wonders if this has happened before, why he hasn’t noticed until now. He frowns, trying to piece together how the events relate to each other. “Why not?” He steps forward, feels the tug of the thread telling him to move back. “What’s this way?”

It doesn’t look any different from the other hallways they’ve passed—it’s dimly light with yellowed flickering lights in metallic holders on the walls, the purple carpet on the metallic floor soft beneath their feet. The fact that Keith is so quick to dismiss looking through it, though, gives Lance more than enough desire to explore.

Keith shrugs and crosses his arms, body language irritated though his gold and violet eyes betray a semblance of curiosity.

“Well, that’s not a _no_. . .” Lance says with a wink. Though he’s taken a step forward and away from Keith, he leans closer to his new friend, so he feels the warmth of Keith’s body and quintessence radiating toward him.

Keith’s face flushes dark and he breaks their eye contact, though he, too, leans closer. “No.”

“So then—”

“Prince Lance!”

He and Keith both startle at the sound of Lotor’s voice, and Lance is jolted at the thought that someone was able to sneak up behind him, since normally he’s able to sense a person’s quintessence long before they arrive.

He finds it so odd how Keith’s quintessence is so vibrant and obvious, bursting toward Lance eagerly, when the quintessence of everyone else in Daibazaal is either missing (but Allura will fix that in a few vargas, and they can help these Galrans heal) or shielded to the point that Lance barely senses it at all. He makes a note to bring this up to Allura again, once the mess with the monsters is all sorted out. It’s very curious.

“Prince Lotor,” Lance greets, unconsciously switching back to the Altean tongue he’s more comfortable using. He takes a step away from Keith.

“I see that Keith has been showing you around,” Lotor says, and from his tone Lance gets the impression that Keith wasn’t supposed to be spending this time with Lance, that he’d been given the task to show Lance to his bedroom and that was all. His Altean is impeccable.

“He has.” Lance sneaks a glance at Keith, whose face is shifting into a stoically neutral expression. His eyes move from Lance to Lotor, but he can’t follow the conversation.

“Haggar is looking for you, Keith,” Lotor adds as an afterthought, maybe after seeing different thoughts running through Lance’s head.

He switches languages so effortlessly it makes Lance a little jealous. Altean is a difficult language to master if it isn’t one’s mother tongue, and the Galran and Altean languages are very different in their symbols and sounds. He knows that Lotor hasn’t had many opportunities to use the language, since they haven’t had their governments meet in many decaphoebs, so he’s a little put out that Lotor excels at it so naturally when Lance could barely understand Keith how many vargas ago.

Keith nods, stiff, turning away from them both, not even offering Lance a goodbye before walking off. Lance frowns.

“What is his job, exactly?”

Lotor chuckles, and he gestures to Lance to lead their walking, away from the hallway Keith had been reluctant to traverse.

Maybe he’ll be able to explore later, before he heads to Allura to help her with the quintessence ritual.

“He does what we need him for, really.” The answer is so vague it leaves Lance more confused than all of Keith’s earlier useless answers. He’s about to ask for clarification when Lotor continues, “Was he not to your liking? We’d be happy to supply a different palace servant. Ezor is a lot more talkative.”

Lance feels the warm pull of Keith’s quintessence again, and he can’t help the tiny smile on his lips when he thinks of Keith’s awkward yet determined look in his gold and purple eyes when he wanted to spend time with Lance—especially since Lance now thinks Keith wasn’t required to do it. He starts playing with the thread connecting him to Keith absentmindedly. “He wasn’t too bad.”

Lotor glances down at Lance’s hands, smiling. “I’m glad we made the right choice, then,” he says, looking up to meet Lance’s eyes again.

Though he’d been growing accustomed to looking into Keith’s eyes, it’s a completely different feeling looking into Lotor’s. Lotor’s eyes are like a mix of Keith’s, with the classic Galran yellow sclera and the bright violet iris. They’re piercing and pretty and Lance’s knees feel weak staring at Lotor for too long.

He knows he’s flirtatious with a lot of the different people he meets on the planets he travels, but after spending the past two vargas with Keith, he’s starting to feel the difference between the fluttering of his heart when he’s with Lotor and when he’s with Keith. He just needs to figure out what that difference means, what he even wants out of all this (if he even wants anything).

“Yeah,” Lance agrees. He wonders how the decision was made in the first place. If Ezor is a better option, why choose Keith as a tour guide at all? The whole thing reads as unusual to him.

Lotor is a better guide than Keith, as he lets Lance lead but ushers him down hallways without constantly changing direction. They chat about nothing in particular, though it’s a lot easier than it had been with Keith. Lotor is gifted at conversation and has a way of making the person he’s talking to feel like the most special person on the planet.

(he hates how easy he is to please, sometimes, since he knows he needs attention and the people who realize that have an easy time hurting him)

“Did you find your quarters easily, last quintant?” Lotor’s stare is strong and Lance feels like his story is being revealed to Lotor little by little, a parchment unrolled and spread out for the world to read. Does Lotor know about his loss of consciousness from the prior quintant? Do the other Galra know?

“Of course.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Lance says lightly. His sleep was dreamless, as he’d been weakened to unconsciousness. “The Galran moon is a lot paler than Altea’s.”

Lotor nods. “Our moon is brighter later in the decaphoeb, depending on our moon’s location in the cycle.”

He’d never had to learn about other planets’ revolutions and moons, as it’s Coran’s job as royal advisor to know these details. It’s still interesting to learn about, though, and he thinks he might ask Coran for more details when he returns to Altea.

Lotor directs Lance to an office, one much larger than probably necessary, without windows but with decent lighting so Lance can see the papers scattered across the desk and the books strewn around the place.

“Were you able to read Daibazaal’s quintessence last quintant?” he begins, letting Lance take a seat at one of the purple chairs while he leans on the edge of the desk at the center of the room.

Lance’s mouth feels dry all of a sudden. He isn’t sure what the best outcome would be, isn’t sure what he wants to say. He doesn’t know why Lotor’s quintessence is hidden the way that it is, but he also doesn’t know who created the beasts or why. Lotor had sent for the Alteans, so he can’t have anything to do with it, yet. . .

“I saw the past,” Lance admits. “What those monsters have been doing. . . Did you know?”

“I had my suspicions,” Lotor murmurs. He’s nowhere near as expressive as Keith, and Lance finds himself comparing, as Lotor doesn’t look even the slightest bit frazzled by this information. His tone sounds horrified to hear that his theories were correct, though, and Lance finds his worries clearing. “Do you think the beast is using them as a food source?”

Lance hasn’t considered the possibility, actually. Quintessence is too strong of an energy to be just food, and he’s never heard of a being that needed quintessence as nourishment for survival, but that doesn’t mean the idea is entirely out of the realm of possibilities. He’ll have to consider it more, but since he’s still under the suspicion that someone had created the monster, he’s doubtful.

“I think it’s more likely that someone has created the monster to attack Daibazaal.”

Lotor’s lips part in shock, though he quickly schools his expression to a neutral one. Lance feels his heart clench. He can’t imagine what it must feel like, to be leading a planet and have it receive such unwarranted terror and loss. “But Daibazaal has stayed out of war since the Intergalactic Treaties, we haven’t. . .”

“I don’t know this for sure,” Lance says quickly. “I’ll need to look into the future for more information, but even then, the truth is still uncertain depending on our actions.”

Running his fingers through his hair, Lotor sighs. The downward curve of his lips is still obvious, but he seems a bit appeased by Lance’s words. “Where in our palace would be best for your process?”

Lance doesn’t want Lotor watching him, as he isn’t sure if he’s going to pass out or not. “Allura is already setting up for a quintessence-drawing ceremony,” Lance says carefully. “It might be best if we proceed with that ritual _first_ , then determine the cause of the monster’s creation. Preserving as many lives as possible is priority.”

Lotor nods, folding his hands in front of him. His eyes are sparkling with something Lance can’t read. “You’re more intelligent than you give yourself credit for, Prince.”

His heart picks up in speed and he feels his face grow warm. Before he can say anything, though, he feels the tug of Keith’s quintessence on his wrist. It almost seems intentional, the warm caress. Lance is surprised at the small smile that forms on his lips, the pleasantness that overwhelms him.

Lotor seems to be examining Lance before he smiles (and it’s very difficult to read, so much so that Lance cannot determine even the smallest semblance of what Lotor might be thinking). “Will you be continuing your tour, then?”

“Are you offering?” Lance throws back with a wink, tone light and words out of his mouth before he even considers them.

“If you’d like, I can show you the gardens,” Lotor agrees. He’s still smiling, and Lance can see the slight sharpness of his teeth. “I don’t believe your tour guide is familiar with them.”

They walk in silence to leave the palace, but it is strangely comfortable, if only because Lotor’s quintessence is not a strong presence, and Keith’s is simply soothing. He tries not to ponder on the unusual tone of Lotor’s words, but the phrase repeats in his head like a mantra until they arrive at their destination.

The gardens of Daibazaal are so different from Altea, with dark almost black bushes and little silver and lavender flowers peeking through the winding vines and trees. Their path is lined in shining stones, and at the center of the garden is an extravagant purple fountain with flowing lilac water.

Lotor is an excellent conversationalist, and Lance finds it easy to forget that he’s in Daibazaal for a reason, with such easy jokes and stories flowing between them.

He sees Keith’s small figure watching him from the open back door of the palace. His ears are flat on his head, his arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe. Lance isn’t sure when Keith arrived, how long he’s been here. He and Lotor are far enough from the palace door that he can’t read Keith’s expressions, and he feels strangely empty at the thought.

“It seems your guide has returned,” Lotor says, following Lance’s eyes. Lance looks at Lotor and shrugs, and Lotor simply smiles back. “I suppose I’ll take my leave.”

Lance glances back at Keith, gesturing for Keith to join them. “Are you sure? Allura will be performing the ritual in a few vargas.”

In classic Keith fashion, Keith reaches his arm out of the doorway like it’s a completely normal thing to do, yanking it back almost immediately after. Lance frowns at the action, not too sure what it could mean. He looks back at Lotor, whose smile has tightened.

“I’m afraid I have more uneventful duties to attend before tonight.” He takes Lance’s hand. He’s wearing gloves, so Lance doesn’t feel the direct effects of their contact, but Lotor’s fingers seem to touch the thread of quintessence wrapped around his wrist. He knows better, though he shifts his hand the slightest bit so the thread falls away from Lotor’s touch. Lance shivers, heart racing. “Not everything is as it appears, Prince.”

He leaves Lance standing alone in the garden, brushing past Keith with the slightest nod of acknowledgement.

Lance doesn’t want to leave the garden, but he feels lonely standing around by himself and Keith is making no effort to join him, so he makes his way back.

Keith seems relieved to see him (the look on his face makes Lance want to smile, it’s nice knowing someone cares, and there’s something in him that feels relieved at seeing Keith too), but he doesn’t say anything.

“I still have a varga or so until I need to find Allura,” Lance starts conversationally.

“She’s set up some sort platforms on the roof.” Keith looks back at the garden behind Lance, frowning. “What are you both doing?”

“We’re going to have to explain to the prince and Haggar right before starting,” Lance sighs, “but basically Allura’s going to channel the quintessence out of the beasts attacking Daibazaal.”

Keith is quiet for a moment as he processes this. “And you?”

“I. . .” Lance swallows. He doesn’t do anything useful, not like Allura does. Thinking quickly, he says, “I check which future we’re aiming for, adjust the strings so we move in that direction.” It sounds so important when he phrases his abilities like this. He probably won’t be necessary during the ritual at all. He’s there more as a backup to Allura, and she won’t let him use his abilities, if she can help it.

“That’s helpful,” Keith says, tone somehow unreadable despite the feeling of his quintessence, and Lance feels his heart twist. Even the Galra hybrid doesn’t think much of him.

“Yeah, well.” Lance makes a face. “I don’t need _your_ opinion.”

Keith seems taken aback for a moment, but his mouth is quick to turn into a frown. “I’m sure you have enough ego without my words adding to it.” Lance raises an eyebrow, and Keith clears his throat. “Are you leaving right after?”

“You saying you’re going to miss me?”

“Well,” Keith crosses his arms, “what will I do without an annoying prince to tote around?”

“Lucky for you that I still have a few vargas.” He stares at Keith until Keith is blushing again, and his own face feels warm at that. “Take me back to the hallway you wouldn’t let me wander earlier.”

Keith’s lips twist into a smirk, and he gestures for Lance to follow him. “Of course.” The walk is startlingly quick, when Keith isn’t changing directions every few doboshes.

“Lotor says you’re not familiar with the gardens.”

Keith almost stops walking in the middle of the hall, though he quickly corrects himself. “He’d be right,” he manages through gritted teeth.

“You know your way around pretty well,” Lance offers as a weird sort of compliment.

Keith seems to lose some of the tenseness of his shoulders. “I explored a lot before. . .” He raises his left hand and waves it a bit, and Lance stares at the thread of quintessence as it glows. Does Keith know the thread is there? Why are the Galra of the palace so unusual when it comes to quintessence?

He knows that there’s a lot to discover about the thread of quintessence that connects them, but he can’t bring himself to explore that. He has a more pressing task, anyway. He can think more about that connection between them once he and Allura can sort through this business about the beasts of Daibazaal.

“Let me know what you find,” Keith says, looking Lance in the eyes.

His yellow eye makes Lance a little uncomfortable, but the Altean-looking eye with the pretty color makes Lance realize he’s nodding.

If he finds something, though he isn’t sure what he’s expecting to find, he might not be able to tell Keith everything. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for or what he hopes to discover, only that there’s so much to uncover and he doesn’t want to just stand behind Allura as she does all the work of draining the monsters of their quintessence and channeling it back to the atmosphere.

Keith doesn’t follow him through the hallway, but his thread of quintessence remains warm and firm around Lance’s fingers, so he has a path back if necessary.

There’s nothing unusual about the place at all. The only aspect of it that even attracted Lance in this direction is that Keith claimed to be unable to enter it (and that Lotor had the impeccable timing to show up at that moment to try and steer Lance away), and even that seems like a load of quiznack, the more Lance wanders and discovers nothing.

Again, he cannot sense any other threads of quintessence, any other signs of life. He can’t even sense the muted tones of Haggar’s or Prince Lotor’s quintessence. It is, as much as Lance can see, a normal hallway.

Every door he tries is merely an empty bedroom. Every office he explores holds no paperwork, no hidden rooms, no secrets. The rooms with sparse decorations do not even tell him a bit of history. He can’t determine if he made up a mystery in his own head or if there’s even a mystery at all. It’s disappointing to realize that, once again, he’ll turn up empty-handed. He can’t help Allura, not even a little.

He’s about to turn back when he feels the powerful burst of quintessence from the room beside him, bright and burning and as powerful as the monster from his vision the prior quintant.

“Wha—”

It’s blinding and his head is spinning and he’s losing his footing—

_Fighting a war isn’t supposed to be fun, and though you spend a lot of time training or moping and thinking of the family you’ve had to leave behind, you know you’ve been lucky with your second family, a group that’s keeping you stable with this new dynamic._

_You’ve known Pidge and Hunk since you started your military training, and the head of your squadron has been your idol for longer than you can remember. You think, perhaps, that you feel lucky because you haven’t had to experience loss the way the people you’re liberating have. You aren’t where you want to be, but you’re where you need to be, and you’re with people you’re happy to know._

_Keith isn’t your ideal companion, but he’s a good fighter and he has your back. You have his, too. You’re all going to get out of this alive._

_You make a great team._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! we have one chapter left and i'm excited to hear your thoughts about this chapter? what do you think is going on? have you noticed anything unusual? let me know what you think!! :')


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